Rememberance
by Rilwen
Summary: Post War of the Ring, Faramir recounts memories of him and his brother Boromir, as sometimes told to his wife Éowyn of Rohan. CH. 2 POSTED
1. Default Chapter

(Author's Note: Here I turn away from the Elven folk to, my favorite, the land of Gondor. This story will chronicle some of Faramir's memories of his dear departed brother Boromir, as sometimes told to Éowyn his wife. Just a brief note, I mention that Éowyn and Faramir's son is named Elboron. In the LOTR appendices, their GRANDSON is named, Barahir, but I do believe in one of the History of Middle Earth series, Elboron is mentioned as their son's name. If anyone knows the exact book and page, I'd love to know. I welcome and enjoy your reviews, and, like all writers, seek *constructive* criticism to improve their writings. Enjoy, and Cheers! – Rilwen)

Disclaimer: I write for fun not profit here, and all that belongs to Tolkien is his and nothing that I would ever infringe upon. I only hope to pay tribute to my favorite characters.

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~ Remembrance ~

Chapter 1: The Journal

Raindrops fell lightly on the paved streets of the White City as servants, commoners and guards alike sought shelter from the incoming storm. A somber mood had fallen on Minas Tirith, no doubt brought on by the dark clouds that now loomed overhead. Staring into the same sky with eyes of a deeper grey was Faramir, the Steward of Gondor. 

Ever since waking that morning to an empty bed, he had sat down by a window of the Merethrond, the great Feast Hall of Minas Tirith. From there he had not moved, despite attempts by his page and even King Aragorn himself.

A leather bound journal lay in his lap, sadly he flipped through the pages of rough parchment, black wisps of his long hair hiding the expression on his face. In this journal Faramir had written his thoughts, dreams, and facts of war and city; all compiled and hand-written with his flowing script. 

He found, at times like this, when his heart was heavy and he did not care to hear the minstrels of Gondor or study Elven lore, that the journal called to him and begged to be opened. Every single time he fell victim to the journal's call, and endured the torture of certain entries that lay inside.

A folded piece of parchment slipped out from the pages and flitted to the ground by his feet. He eyed it first then leaned over and retrieved it, slowly unfolding the paper. With a bitter chuckle he sat back against the sill, stroking at the dark goatee on his fair skin.

"How evil you are to me, constantly reminding of the very torment I look to you to soothe."

With a quiet sigh he beheld the sketch of two young boys on horseback. 

"Boromir, o brother…the years do not ease my grief over your death."

Faramir felt a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped in surprise at the touch. A soft voice answered.

"I did not mean to scare you…perhaps I should go?"

"Éowyn…" he whispered as he gazed at his wife. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder in a braid tied with golden thread. She wore a dress of pale blue with flowing sleeves and a low back that gave him sight of her soft skin.

Faramir embraced his wife and kissed her lips letting her take away the mournful thoughts in his mind. But Éowyn was quicker than the Steward, and immediately she knew that something was wrong. She took his hand and was about to speak when she the sketch Faramir held in his rough hands. A frown creased her features and her voice softened with pity.

"I had nearly forgotten…our son would not let me sleep and my mind is far from rested."

"Perhaps he too feels his father's grief for the uncle he never knew."

Éowyn stood behind Faramir as his attention once again turned to the rain outside. She slipped her arms around his waist they stared out at the Seven Circles of their city and home in silence. Faramir was glad the White Lady of Rohan did not see the tears coming to his gray eyes.

"It was this day, years ago, that the guards of this city heard the great horn blow. The world was still dark then, and my company and I were struggling to fight off swarms of orcs that threatened Ithilien and our lives. Yet the horn's call seemed only a dream…a trick of the wind that faded as soon as its course shifted again. But it was no dream, dear Éowyn, it was the start of a nightmare."

"My love, he would not want you to suffer so... I do not want you to suffer so."

"Do you not rue the anniversary of Theoden's death? Do you not replay that moment a thousand times over, wondering if perhaps you could have stopped it?"

Éowyn bowed her head and rested her face against his shoulder.

"Yes, I do."

"Then multiply that pain and regret twofold, and you would know the feeling of losing Éomer, as I lost Boromir."

"Perhaps it would be best, if you remember the good times you had with your brother. Like this moment here…"

She took the sketch of Boromir and Faramir on horseback and smiled, turning that same shining smile to her husband.

"Tell me of this day Faramir, if you were not too young to recall."

~*~

_I was seven years old, Boromir was twelve. It was the first time he was large enough to ride a grown horse. We had spent all day getting used to our steeds, I had a pony named Goldleaf, Boromir chose to call his horse Nightwind. Even at such a young age, the idea of being a warrior was drilled into his mind…_

Boromir, elder son of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, gripped the reins of his horse as he easily wove in and out of a small track of posts. Thrice he had done the task effortlessly, and the smile on his face could not have grown any larger. A cool breeze blew across the Pelennor Fields, ruffling the young boy's dark hair out of the grip of the cord he used to keep the growing locks away from his face. 

"Faramir! Faramir did you see me? I ride like the horsemen of Rohan! Nay, better! For I am a soldier of Gondor!"

Boromir raised his hand up in the air in triumph as if he had been victorious in a great battle. Faramir ran up to his brother with an apple in his hand. He was clad in a dark gray tunic and black pants, and his hair was a dark mess of wayward locks, too long to keep controlled yet too short to tie back. He paid no attention to his brother's reverie as he jogged up to the steed Boromir named Nightwind and stroked the creature's black mane, feeding it the apple. Boromir looked puzzled as he hopped off the horse and kept a grip on the reins. 

"Didn't you hear me?"

"He's hungry, he wanted an apple."

"Let me guess, you heard it talk?"

"Yea!"

"Faramir! Nightwind isn't an elf horse, he doesn't talk. He's not a horse from Rohan either!"

"I can still hear him."

Boromir sighed and shook his head. 

"You've been reading too much again. And you never come to sword practice! Father will disapprove."

"Mother liked my stories."

At this comment Boromir grew silent and frowned. It had only been two years since their mother's death, and while Boromir chose to shove the pain into the depths of his mind, Faramir was younger and did not have the strength to do the same. 

"Don't talk about Mother."

"Sorry." Faramir pouted and ran over to a haystack where he had left his belongings: a children's book of Elven lore and a small sack of snacks for the horses.

One of the boys' servants came over to take Nightwind from Boromir's hands, leaving the little master to stare at his brother, his arms defiantly crossed over his chest. He was angry that Faramir dared bring up their mother, Finduilas, again. He specifically told him he no longer wished to think about his mother, for it was too sad to think about, and Lord Denethor had always told Boromir the soldiers of Gondor did not cry. Yet as he watched his little brother flip through a book with eager eyes, he suddenly grew angrier. Why did their mother have to die? Why couldn't anything have been done to save her? They had been left alone without her caring smile and warm embrace while they were still too young to fully understand the concept of death. But 

Boromir jogged over to his little brother and sat down next to him. Faramir turned his back on his older brother and brought the book up to his face.

"I'm sorry Faramir…I didn't mean to talk to you that way."

"Go away."

A mischievous glint sparkled in Boromir's grey eyes, and he stood, grabbed Faramir's book from his hands, and began to run around the Pelennor Fields in circles, taunting and daring Faramir to chase him. Faramir at first held back, shaking his head and standing with his sack, reaching for an apple to launch at his rascal of a brother, but then he realized Boromir was truly sorry for how he had behaved, and he felt just as much pain as Faramir did over the loss of their mother.

"Prepare to die, evil orc!"

Faramir grabbed his wooden practice sword from his belt and held it high in the air, crying out and chasing after Boromir. The siblings burst into laughter as they parried swords and tackled each other to the ground. By now they had attracted a crowd, who simply watched on shaking their heads with a hint of a smile on their faces. The bond between the brothers was unbreakable, and it appeared nothing would tear them apart. Boromir gained the upper hand in the scramble and pinned Faramir down. Their raven hair was spotted with leaf and twig, and by now their clothes were soiled with mud and grass stains.

"Boromir the Great wins once again!"

"Huzzah big brother!"

Boromir stood and picked Faramir up, dusting him off.

"Come Faramir, get your things and let's go home and wash up. We get to watch Father's meeting with the soldiers tonight!"

Boromir gave him a few moments to gather his belongings, then took his hand and together they ran off to Minas Tirith.

~*~

Éowyn frowned as Faramir finished recalling that day. Her husband bowed his head, letting raven locks cover his handsome face and hide the tears that ran down his pale cheeks. The White Lady of Rohan took the sketch of the brothers and tucked it into Faramir's journal, gingerly setting it aside on the sill of the window by which they sat. 

"Perhaps…now is not the best of times to speak of Boromir."

She stood and approached the window pain, touching her slender fingers to the cool glass as rain pattered against it. The long sleeves of her gown flowed down into the skirt of her dress, trailing behind her like a pale river. Lost in thought she gazed out into the Pelennor Fields, her husband's sorrow bringing back some of her own as she remembered those she lost on that dreadful day. For a moment her arm throbbed, and in her mind visions of the Witch King flashed between scenes of fallen Rohirrim and her beloved Uncle. Awoken from her reverie by movement behind her, she turned to see that Faramir had gotten to his feet and gone for a cup of ale. 

Éowyn took care to pick up the journal as she followed Faramir to the table. As he was about to refill his glass, Éowyn pulled his hand away and gazed into his eyes, a stern look in her own. 

"That is not the road to take. You know this well enough, Faramir."

Faramir sighed and took the journal from his wife's hands, tucking it into the belt he wore around his black tunic.

"Where is Elboron? For now more than ever I need to see the innocence in his eyes and feel the love in his smiles. He alone remains untainted by the darkness we survived."

"Follow me then, my lord. Our son is sleeping, but I beg you do not wake him, it took me quite awhile to quiet him."

"Nay, fair Éowyn. To see you both at once is all I ask for now."


	2. Chapter 2

(Author's Note: As the chapters go on Boromir and Faramir will be older. Like in all my stories I like to be as wide-ranged with emotions as I can, one of those emotions being love/infatuation. I can almost hear the groans, but I promise, there is no Mary Sue here and this particular memory is before LOTR so I have some freedom don't I? ;) Turns out I tried out humor in this chapter as well, and I decided to borrow a line from the Two Towers Extended Edition DVD (excellent Boromir/Faramir flashbacks). I welcome and enjoy your reviews, and, like all writers, seek *constructive* criticism to improve their writings. Enjoy, and Cheers! – Rilwen)

Disclaimer: I write for fun not profit here, and all that belongs to Tolkien is his and nothing that I would ever infringe upon. I only hope to pay tribute to my favorite characters.

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~ Remembrance ~

Chapter 2: Wandering Eyes

The rainstorm had passed and now golden rays of sun peered out through the clouds to shine down upon the White City, illuminating all of Minas Tirith in a majestic glow that could be seen for miles. Children once again ran out to play and merchants opened up shop, bellowing out their prices for all the passer by to hear as they held up ripe fruit and salted meats. At these times Minas Tirith could be quite noisy, but the Steward's House in the seventh level allowed a quite escape from the hustle and bustle of city life.

It was there that Faramir had fallen into a restless sleep in his bedchamber, with the small bassinet carrying his son Elboron directly before him. In the rocking chair his wife often used to rock their son to sleep, Faramir sat slouched with a hand to his face to keep his head up. He had not noticed the maids come in to dress young Elboron, and now Éowyn entered the room as well, all of the women trying their best not to disturb Faramir's sleep. The White Lady never liked the idea of maids and servants, but so kind had she and Faramir been to them, that the maids often insisted they do the work for the Steward and his wife. Éowyn often told Faramir she would rather do things on her own, but every time her husband would smile and stroke her golden hair, telling her to deny their offer would be disrespectful to them. Her husband always calmed her stubborn mind, and at that thought she smiled.

She slowly approached the rocking chair and knelt beside it. She had changed into a casual blue dress with a gray cloak, her long hair free from the restrictions of a braid. Instead she wore a silver circlet around her forehead, with a tiny emblem of the White Tree at its center. Éowyn took Faramir's hand and kissed it gently, calling him to the waking world with whispers.

"Husband? Come with me for a stroll, I'm taking Elboron to see the birds in the fountain…"

          One gray eye opened and peered at Éowyn. With a yawn Faramir sat up and rubbed his eyes, speaking with a voice still heavy with slumber.

"No…no not today my love."

"Faramir, you love to go to the fountain with us, let us go so that you may forget your troubles!"

Éowyn stood and clasped her hands together, frowning slightly as she watched Faramir shake his head and keep his eyes closed. The maids announced to Éowyn that Elboron had been dressed, and the White Lady of Rohan turned to receive her son, placing a kiss on his brow and turning back to Faramir. 

"He looks quite handsome, like his father." She smiled hopefully.

"I beg you leave me be, I just…I need to be alone. I am sorry."

Éowyn dismissed the maids and placed Elboron into his carriage. Strolling away from Faramir she stopped at the door and turned back, hoping he would be awake and change his mind, but the Steward of Gondor still slept. With a sigh she turned away and left the room.

Not long after, Faramir rose from his seat and went to the window just in time to see his wife and son stroll out into the courtyard. He let himself be lost in the vision of the two, watching Éowyn's hair dance in the wind as if faeries flittered through it. The skirt of her dress and her dark cloak danced around her slender body. In her arms she held his heir, Elboron, and a sad smile came to Faramir's lips as the infant reached out with tiny hands to the birds that bathed in the fountain; unaware of the troubles those very birds had seen.

"I am truly blessed to have you both, for you are the only family I now know. He would have loved to join us on your favorite walks, dear wife…"

-=-

"Men of Gondor! Raise your cups high, for tonight we toast to Denethor!"

"Aye, to Denethor!"

The cheers of Gondorian soldiers and some of their female companions echoed in the halls of the Merethrond. The company had just defeated a band of orcs who had made camp in Ithilien in hopes to later cross to Osgiliath, and now they were celebrating in the feast hall of Minas Tirith. The Steward Denethor rose from his seat with his cup held high as he accepted the toast.

"And let us not forget my noble son Boromir! For two decades he has graced this earth and so shall he defend it evermore!"

"Aye to Boromir!"

Denethor smiled to his eldest son before drinking the ale. Boromir had played a large part in capturing and destroying the orc leader, and the soldiers of Gondor did not cease praising him and exaggerating the final battle between the two. Boromir rose to accept the toast and nodded his head in thanks as he smiled to his men, his grey eyes gleaming.

Faramir watched from afar, applauding his elder brother for his deeds, truly proud of the soldier he had become. He too had been present to see Boromir slay the orc leader, and if it had been up to Boromir, both brothers would be accepting the toasts and gratitude of the men…but Denethor would never admit his book-loving son could be anything more than a story-teller.

Boromir slipped away from the men and plopped down in a chair next to his brother, raising another cup of ale to his lips.

"Little brother! This feast is not only mine but yours as well! Drink, be merry! We crushed those orcs like ants!"

"Yes, indeed we did."

Faramir smiled and raised his cup to Boromir as the two then turned to observe the hall. Banners of the White Tree hung on either side of the great feast hall from the stone pillars keeping the high ceiling erect. At the end of the hall on the center wall hung a glorious tapestry depicting various moments of Gondorian history. Faramir had always admired the tapestry, and had spent many hours sketching certain scenes from it on large parchment, but tonight a sword replaced the charcoal bit, and armor replaced the usual tunic and pants he wore: ceremonial dress required by the Steward. He turned to comment on the tapestry to his brother, but found that Boromir was staring at something completely different.

Off in the corner where the minstrels played, some of the younger ladies and soldiers danced to a happy jig. One particular dancer was a young woman with braids and ribbons in her hair, and a yellow dress with many colored skirts. Her name was Arelyn, daughter of Osgiliath's army general. Her along with other ladies had come from Gondor's capital of art and music to entertain Denethor's guests, and Faramir could tell his brother was more than entranced.

He tested Boromir's attention. He slipped his cup away from his hand, even removed his scabbard from his belt. Not one flinch. This made Faramir chuckle loudly enough to bring Boromir back to reality.

"What do you find so funny?"

Faramir held up the scabbard and empty cup.

"Who knows what else I could have taken while you were in your trance of love."

"Trance of- nonsense! Nonsense Faramir. I was listening to the music."

"And I am secretly an elf of Doriath."

"Quiet! No need to tease." Boromir turned a bashful face to his cup and drowned his shyness in ale.

"Everytime the General comes to Minas Tirith with Arelyn in tow you turn into a bumbling fool. Where is Boromir the brave? Talk to her!" Faramir shoved his brother playfully.

"And say what? You are the lore master, you spend hours writing prose, not I."

Faramir shrugged, and then slowly he began to shake his head as Boromir flashed the same rascal grin he always did when they were children before making Faramir's life impossible. 

"No! No, absolutely not!"

"I beg of thee Faramir! I will repay you tenfold! Give me something to say!" Boromir leaned in and hushed his voice. "Tell me something to say about her eyes…nay, her flowing hair! Flowing, is that a good word little brother?"

Faramir sighed, five years his senior and Boromir still had no clue what to say to women. Luckily, Denethor was too busy focusing on Boromir's path as a warrior at the moment to pressure him about marriage and an heir. 

"Flowing is fine, although I doubt after all the ale you've had your memory will allow you to remember it."

Boromir looked over to Arelyn in frustration and applauded as the dance ended. Servants brought the ladies some refreshments to soothe their throats after the dance, and Arelyn accepted hers with a bright smile. She chatted happily with the other girls, unaware of the grey stare sent her way by the young Captain of Gondor. Faramir sighed and pushed away his cup with a look of humorous determination.

"If you do not speak to her, Boromir, then I shall do it for you, and say how all your life you've wanted only her, and written love letters you dare not send."

"What kind of approach is that? I am Captain of Gondor, not some…lovesick child."

"Is that so?"

Faramir smiled and rose from his chair, making his way towards Arelyn. Boromir watched on in horror, his hand reaching for his cup of ale. He groaned when he found Faramir had taken that and placed it at another table to spite him. As if in slow motion, Faramir approached Arelyn and her lady friends. Closer and closer he got until Boromir could take no more, and he raced from his seat to stop his brother at the last moment. He pulled him aside before the ladies, who watched curiously. He spoke to Faramir in a strong whisper, all the while trying to act like he had not nearly toppled four soldiers on his way over.

"Fine, if you wish to go about things this way. Wait back at the table…" 

Boromir put on a serious face and pat his brother's shoulder as if he had just asked some duty of him. Faramir nodded and went away with just as serious a look. Then Boromir cleared his throat and turned to the ladies, bowing in greeting.

"Good eve to you all, ladies. Are you enjoying the feast?"

Some of the women giggled amongst each other as they swooned over Boromir, although his attention was only on one of them. From his seat at the table, Faramir rolled his eyes. Boromir smiled to Arelyn.

"Lady Arelyn, may I say that no elf from Lorien nor Rivendell could have as much beauty in their dance as that of your own."

He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

Faramir was speechless. Did he hear his brother correctly? With a smile he watched as Boromir exchanged smiles with Arelyn and led her by the hand towards the minstrels as they began another song.

"You are full of surprises, dear brother."

Faramir laughed as Boromir turned Arelyn away from his direction as they danced, just to look in his direction and give him a knowing smile. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking, and to that Faramir raised his glass and drank in honor of them both.

Life was good this night.


End file.
